


Destiny is More Than a Name

by I_Got_Lost



Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Gen, Link pov, Not A Fix-It, Open to Interpretation, no such thing as complete evil, what happens in between the games
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:49:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28418640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_Got_Lost/pseuds/I_Got_Lost
Summary: After every death, the souls of the triforce return to the In-Between. There is no anger. There is no hatred. There is no blame. This is what happens between the games. This is the In-Between.Alternately; Link sits under a tree, thinks about what the hell his life is, and talks to Gannon.
Kudos: 15





	Destiny is More Than a Name

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is purely self-indulgent and it is based off of a few head cannons I have, namely that Link's name isn't actually Link. The stories rename him as Link because Zelda and Gannon always have the same name, so it keeps things consistent.  
> As always, have fun, enjoy, and don't shoot me.  
> -Lost

He doesn’t get a peaceful life.

Sometimes he gets lucky and he manages to live in a time where the tragedy occurs when he is an adult. Sometimes he gets to have a childhood of peace, fun, and happiness. He gets to make friends and he lives without the pain and the anger of the world resting on his shoulders and driving him ever onwards. But, most of the time he is barely of age.

Too often he is a child.

In some worlds he gets to have a family. He gets to have a grandmother, a sister, parents, and a life of knowing just who he is. In other worlds, his friends are his family. He will forever hold true to the idea that not having a blood relation does not make the relationships any less valid.

In every world he is given a sword, a shield, and a duty. In every world, he swallows his tongue and marches forward with his lips sealed shut and his teeth clenched. In every world, he knows there is no point in arguing. It will not save him. It will not delay the inevitable.

In every world, he hears the music of the winds, the songs of the seas, and the ambient magic. In some worlds, he is given objects of power to harness the songs. In others, he has instruments and songs that seek out the world and  _ twist  _ the power into convenient spells. In other worlds, he never gets to use this magic at all.

No matter the world, he hates the colour green. He wants to take the tunic and hat and see what will happen if he sets the cloth on fire. He hates the colour green, hates the duty and the responsibility and the pain it represents. He wants to set the whole damn thing alite.

(He can't be a hero,  _ The Hero _ , without the uniform, can he?)

He never gets the chance.

His hands shake. There is a faint line across his ribs, that no matter the lifetime, aches in the cold. He has callouses, working hands. In some worlds, he bleeds and bleeds for days on end until he can build up the skin. In other worlds, he has never known a day without them. His cheek is scored with the faint brush of his fetching. His feet are numb from the endless march and the constant kicking.

In every world, it’s the same. He is chosen by a sword and a goddess to seal away the darkness. The princess stands by his side and they join forces to drive off the evil. In every world, their story continues.

Legend is passed through the mists of time and the Hero, the Princess, and Ganondorf.

Link.

Zelda.

Ganondorf.

Link is not his name. It isn’t. It would be easier if it were, but it’s not. The stories need a certain consistency. The people need an easy solution. The Royal Family enforces the continuation of the same name for all their born princesses, and Ganondorf always has the similar circumstances of birth. His name is inevitable.

Link is the only variable. The only thing that changes from reincarnation to reincarnation. Every time he gets a new name but history never remembers that. History never remembers the name he was born with, only ever the name he was given once he was declared The Hero.

He can’t remember the name he was born with the last time around. Can't bother to go looking for it either. Not when he only has a little while longer to sit and to rest.

This is the In-Between.

One life, he had asked what happened to someone after they died. He can't remember which life it had been and he doesn’t suppose it really matters anyway. In every life it seems he ends up with a green uniform and a sword on his back. It makes tracking which memories are from where, extremely difficult. But whichever life it had been, he had gotten his answer. Apparently, the souls not talked with reincarnation would be able to pass on to green pastures and a world without strife. He had been told that Hylia herself ensured safe passage and peaceful rest.

He could tell you from experience, that was not what happened to those forced to a rest period in the In-Between. The In-Between isn't special. It is hardly more than a great expanse with shifting fog, unidentifiable landscapes, and a world without food, water, or fire. In the same vein, it is not as if he got hungry in the In-Between either.

Still, it would be nice to do something other than sit under what he thought might be a tree and stare off into the mists. Especially since it seemed he might be alone in this rotation.

There were two other souls that appeared constantly in the In-Between.

Sometimes the three of them met up and passed the time together. Other times, they could not stand to be near each other, the three of them slinking off into the mists to lick their wounds and pride in peace. Some rotations it is he who cannot bear to look at the others. In others, it is the princess.

Often, it is Ganondorfdorf who cannot stand their presence.

He cannot blame him.

Sometimes Ganondorf is sealed away but not defeated and that means his soul is stuck on the mortal plane, unable to seek the little sanctuary the In-Between can offer. It is a cruel taunt and a cruel punishment for a predetermined fate on a soul long since subjected to justice for his original sin.

(People do not seem to understand that eternity is forever. You cannot punish someone  _ forever _ .)

They never remember what happens when they leave the In-Between. They never remember the conversations and the promises, the comfort they tried to give each other. This does not stop them from trying to change things.

Next time will be different.

Next time will be different.

Next time, their story  _ must  _ be different.

The whole situation feels like an exercise in insanity and he wonders if the others have long since gone through the motions only for the comfort the actions bring. (How long has it been since he first entered the mists? How long has he sat here, alone?)

He sits under the tree and he waits. There is not much else to do. Sometimes he hears howls and he walks off to train one of his incarnations. He steps into the plain his soul resides on for that life and his body melts into bones. He walks out of the mists and he is nothing but bones and bristling weapons and he thinks Hylia took away his voice so he could not warn the child off. So he could not tell his living soul that none of what happened was any of their choice.

Each of them bears a curse, his is that he can never voice the anger and the pain that has gripped his soul.

But, he sits under the tree, and he waits.

Seconds, minutes, lifetimes later; another soul sits down beside him. He does not have to open his eyes to know Ganandorf has finally been surrendered to the mists until the next life.

“I didn’t want this.” Ganondorf whispers.

No, they never do.

He doesn’t want this either. He doesn’t want to wake up in a world with no memory of the mists, to have everything ripped away from him and for hatred to kindle in his heart. He doesn’t want to be driven by anger and hurt only to be forced back to the mists and to  _ understand. _

“I cannot even remember how it started.” Ganondorf admits, his voice low and raspy. “And now, Calamity. The Calamity. It takes over the moment I awake. It whispers and it curls through my mind and I cannot make it stop.”

Link, Hero, Him, has nothing to say to that, not that he could say much even if he wanted to. In some worlds he is allowed to speak. In the mists, there is never that option. He cannot even lift his hands in place of his voice, the mists too thick to even see the gestures need to reassure Ganondorf that  _ this is not his fault. _

“I cannot say  _ no. _ ” Ganondorf confesses, his voice curling through the mists and dropping the admission at his feet.

He has to wonder, is the goddess deliberately cruel? Or does she just not care? Is she just happy because her favorite souls provide entertainment and that suits her tastes just fine?

It is a simple matter to reach out and clasp his hand around Ganondorf's wrist. He can't tell if the trembling is from his own hands or if it is a mixture of the two of them. Both of them were broken and hurt. Hidden away in the mists. And truthfully, he doesn’t think it matters.

They are two souls and they hurt.

There doesn’t have to be any more explanation then that.

Ganondorf flinches under his hand and he squeezes the other man's wrist once, twice, three times, in silent support.

Then he begins to break the rules.

Many incarnations back, the three of them had figured out they were not just branded by the triforce, they were the triforce. They were the embodiment of the powers and the morals and all the tidings that came with it. Ever since then, he had wondered what would happen if he tried to pass that power on to somebody else. 

Or, in this case, what would happen if he used his own power to boost another’s.

“You can’t.” Ganondorf nearly shouts as he tries to jerk his hand away.

He can only grin, the mirthless stretch of his lips lost in the mist.

“This is your soul! This is your power! It will leave you weak. You won’t be able to stop me. You won’t be able to make things right.” Ganondorf’s free hand comes out and he can feel the man’s fingers tremble their way up his arm and grasp onto his shoulder. “Doing this will make things so much worse.”

“Or, it might make things right.” Zelda’s voice flickers through the mists and he can almost pretend to see her form on Ganondorf’s other side.

The three of them, together at last. 

“What if you can turn away the darkness? What if you can seal it away forever?” Zelda whispers.

The three of them, tired and broken.

The mists brighten a bit and he can see both of Ganondorf’s hands. He can see his own hand, tiny in comparison, and Zelda’s dainty fingers, wrapped around two strong wrists. He will sacrifice his own power, a bit of his own soul, to keep this cycle from happening again.

They’ve tried everything else, maybe this time, they need to stand together.

A wind rustles through the mist and he closes his eyes once more.

The cycle begins anew.

**Author's Note:**

> Ps; Hazardofacat, I told you this was a one-shot!  
> see, i can make one-shots.


End file.
